by Green Dc
I grumbled under my breath. What rubbish!
Bruce elbowed me and hissed, ‘Told you humes were the pits!’
The professor continued. ‘As was prophesied, the humes blundered too far. They poisoned the soil, water and air. They were killing our planet, and still they would not change their evil behaviour. Snow melted from the brawniest o’ mountains. Great distant lands o’ ice slid into the seas. Rain began to fall. And fall. And fall.
At first, the doltish humes danced in the puddles, for their world was brown and cracked. The humes’ dams and reservoirs overflowed. And still the rain fell. Like a tearing in the Heavens, like the Great Goblin God was mourning, the rain did not stop. The lowlands flooded first, forcing the humes to move their cities and refugee camps to higher ground.’
Professor Vemrin cackled. ‘Soon the rising waters lapped at the humes’ tent pegs. Their “temporary” camps shifted to steeper ground, to the mountainous spines the humes had stripped bare. Their survivors, ever more crushed together, lashed out at each other in stunned confusion, as humes will.’
I writhed. Could the professor actually be right? The history Lord Boron taught was nothing like this!
‘The humes lost faith in their science and arrogant presumptions. They turned on their own technology. Much knowledge was lost, including so-called miracle inventions such as cars, telephones, aeroplanes and the Internet, which supposedly made machines able to converse with each other!’
The professor snickered. ‘Though I’d argue such machines were either mythical flights o’ fantasy or hume propaganda. Of far more relevance, while their numbers dwindled, our numbers recovered.
We, whom the humes called monsters – the darkest, deepest elements o’ the hume mind – were coming back with a vengeance! At first, the humes worked together, hunting us like animals. Very quickly though, our numbers grew brawny. The hunted became hunters! And still the waters rose. It became plain only the highest region on Earth would prove beyond reach o’ the flooding: an ancient plateau, split along the middle by a mountain chain.
The humes fought the last war they would ever win, defeating the giant ants and converting their anthill into the tunnelled superstructure we call Castle Mount. The plains and forests on both sides o’ the plateau filled with all the monster refugees o’ the world. Like harpies o’ a feather, monsters flocked together, building walls, barricades and villages that became the suburbs o’ the plateau-spanning metropolis of Monstro City. The rest o’ the world was drowned beneath a single ocean in which swim monsters that dwarf even our late-arriving troll youngster.’ Vemrin sculled the last of his cheesy drink and belched.
Fifteen rows back, my nostrils wrinkled at the pungent Roquefort burp.
‘Meanwhile,’ the professor went on, ‘the Hume World Court, in an astonishing act o’ desperation, ruled that humes must pay monsters compensation for their years o’ discrimination. Thousands o’ hectares o’ land were handed to monsters without a single crossbow being fired! And so the original four quarters were granted: one to the humes, one to the giant creatures, one to the mythic beasts and the last to the so-called magic folk. Of course, subsequent wars have changed the borders – and various monster numbers – many times, though I digress.’
Bruce rolled several dozen eyes.
‘The majority o’ settlement money was awarded to the so-called “famous” monsters, those whose copyright had been most abused by humes, such as Dracula, Godzilla, King Kong and Jabberwocky. Some o’ these monsters were the originals; others were descendants; many, frauds. All became the wealthiest residents o’ Monstro City. They banded together and purchased Holly Hill as the ultimate gated community. Many continued as celebrities, or became wealthier by subdividing land on the lower slopes o’ Holly Hill.
These days, the legendary Hill grasps the world’s best security systems and the brawniest ogre army. Even I – an esteemed, university-educated professor,’ Vemrin’s voice flared, ‘would have to work another 100 years to afford a one-bedroom shack at the base o’ Holly Hill!
‘Ahem. The third great mountain on Monstro City was grasped by the brawniest monster o’ all: Kalthazari the dragon. She slumbers inside Fire Mountain, where she receives weekly tributes o’ food and gold from the monster quarters and humes.’
‘Protection money,’ Gort Klusk whined. His gang chorused agreement.
Oddly, the Viethe goblins looked smug at the mention of the dragon.
Professor Vemrin held up a finger. ‘Unfortunately, and unfairly, goblins received no compensation money. The original Monstro City goblins were forced to share a lowland quarter with witches, fairies, gnomes, elves and other species who are now, for the most part, sadly extinct. So goblins were tragically denied a major mountain o’ their own.’
‘Why do gobs always wanna cling on boring mountains?’ shouted Bruce. ‘Is it becoz they dig digging tunnels and skulking in black holes?’
‘You are referring to mountain goblins, spider, who are not legit goblins.’ The professor air-drummed his fingers. ‘Would someone care to answer the giant spider’s doltish question?’
‘I will,’ Friendly Viethe volunteered. ‘It’s a fact us goblins love mountains – apart from those freaky bush gobs.’ Friendly smirked at Greta. ‘The reason? Ta grasp the best real estate!’
Friendly bowed to the rare unified cheers of goblins on both sides of the class.
Professor Vemrin clapped. His eyes approvingly roamed the Klusks and Viethes, ignoring any non-goblin hands or spider pincers. It was as if the rest of us were invisible.
‘And why do we grasp this love? Because many argue the ocean levels will rise again, flooding the outer quarters o’ Monstro City. Only four mountains will then exist above the ocean. One is an unreachable island, populated with giant terrors. One grasps unparalleled defence systems. One is occupied by a dragon. That leaves just one piece o’ lofty real estate: Castle Mount. Aye, the hume dolts who grasp Upper Castle Mount, many hundreds o’ metres above this school, are the richest o’ their species, able to afford personal ogre bodyguards and the best hi-tech weaponry. Thus, Castle Mount would be difficult to defeat in open warfare.
Slowly though, as humes are eaten, beaten, or simply decide to evacuate to the Ex-Human Quarter to get upgraded, we goblins have been buying up real estate from Lower and Middle Castle Mount. The government o’ Monstro City, run from Middle Castle Mount, is also largely staffed by goblins – as shown by the fact there hasn’t been a non-goblin mayor for over 300 years.’
‘And soon,’ Friendly Viethe stood, gloating, ‘we’ll grasp the last o’ Castle Mount and turf out the fat regent, the mad queen and her wimpy, inbred brat.’
‘Just shut up!’ I jumped to my feet. ‘Don’t you talk about the queen like that!’
‘What’s it ta ya, hume lover?’ Friendly whirled to face me. ‘More ta the knife point, what’re ya gonna do ’bout it? Fight me at recess?’
Goblins sniggered.
‘Sounds like a plan to me,’ I replied.
Bruce bounced to his feet. ‘You gotta excuse my bud. He just suffered an explosion of swamp gas in his mini brain.’
Friendly smirked. ‘More like an explosion o’ chicken disease.’
‘No explosion,’ I said. ‘Playground. Recess. I’ll be there.’
Stunned silence settled.
Erica frowned in my thoughts: choose your fights wisely. I had no doubt the goblin leader would thrash me in a fight. I also didn’t care. The mayor’s nephew had slandered my species. Yet his insult of my comatose mother cut the deepest. I couldn’t defend her as her son – I’d be set upon by every monster in school. But I could defend her as Swamp Boy. Hopefully, maybe, the fight wouldn’t be my last; though, from the dire expressions on my new friends’ faces, that was extreme wishful thinking.
‘Sit, lad.’ Professor Vemrin gazed at me like I was already dead.
‘Are you totally weird?’ hissed Bruce.
I said nothing. Everything that needed to be said ha
d already been said.
History was done.
‘The vomit … it lives!’
9: REGURGITATIONS
The playground was a teacher-free zone.
‘Let’s fight in yer pool.’ Friendly cracked his bulbous knuckles. ‘I can do laps … through yer intestines!’ Though not as stocky as his mayor uncle, Friendly’s orc limbs and muscles looked at least twice as thick as mine. I tried not to remember the human dummy he’d disembowelled in PE with those hideous knife-bones in the back of his hands.
And I failed.
Even if he ‘only’ tore open my monster suit, all the real monsters would learn my secret and want to kill me too.
Even my friends.
These thoughts weren’t helping, I realised, and said at last, ‘Fair enough.’
The Viethes lined one lengthy pool side; the Klusks the opposite. The Dead Gang claimed a short side. Tessa lay on the handball court and … groaned?
I climbed into the pool.
Tarantulas scattered.
Gort Klusk somersaulted down, metal limbs clanking. ‘I volunteer as referee.’
Friendly scoffed. ‘Yew?’
‘I’m the perfect pick,’ Gort scoffed back. ‘I hate ya both equally.’
Friendly snorted. ‘Whatever.’
No one seemed to care what I thought. ‘Let’s have a fair fight,’ said Gort. ‘Nay, unfair’s more entertainin’!’
‘As long as it’s just us two,’ I said.
‘Monster on monster.’ Friendly leapt into the pool, over-balanced and tripped. ‘I won’t need help anyways. I can slice this pile’a seaweed with my knife-bones strapped behind my back.’
Erica always warned me to never underestimate an enemy. I sure wasn’t guilty of that. Maybe, just maybe, an over-confident Friendly wasn’t quite used to his upgraded body.
Whoa! The goblin charged. His bony fist swung at my jaw. I ducked. He spun and rushed again, punching and kicking. I ducked and jumped and weaved, all the while driven backwards.
‘Stop still!’ Friendly threw his biggest punch.
I ducked easily. He over-balanced, exposing his right side. I pushed off the pool wall, sinking my right fist into his kidney zone. The goblin gasped, winded – and spun. I ducked and shuffled forward, aiming another punch. My fist drove into his stomach, jarring my arm. I jumped back.
‘Yew hurt me.’ Friendly doubled over, dribbling bile. ‘How can a swamp critter move so fast?’ His stunned voice turned shrill. ‘Ya must’a grasped upgrades! Ya must have bionic legs! And bionic hands! Ya dirty cheat!!’
‘Complains the monster who upgraded his entire body.’ I smiled grimly, though no one could tell.
Friendly cocked his wrists, popping the ends of twin knife-bones through his skin. ‘No more nice goblin.’ He crossed arms, howled, and tore the bones free. Reeking of raw meat and iron, hot blood sprayed across the pool.
Stop trembling, knees!
Clutching a bone-knife in each fist, Friendly advanced – this time, more warily. I knew he wanted to pin me in a corner. Using my eyes to deceive, I feinted one way and ducked the other. Tumbling past, I fired a punch into Friendly’s ribcage, and sprang back up.
The goblin spun, his expression a mixture of pain, confusion and breathlessness. ‘Ya die. Taday!’ Friendly’s mouth creased into a dark smile. Looking beyond my shoulder, he snarled, ‘Grasp ’im, ref!’
I spun to counter this new threat.
Referee Gort, leaning against the pool rim, smirked at my stupidity.
Realising Friendly’s deception, I launched into a blind roll. The goblin’s leg lashed out. I weaved to avoid the blow. The glancing impact sent me spinning.
Friendly charged. I leaped to my feet. Too slow! His shoulder slammed into my stomach, driving me against the pool wall. Winded, I tried to push to one side.
His left knife blurred. It drove through my costume, puncturing my shoulder. Yahh! He’d stabbed me! Pinned, I swung a punch at his stomach. Air rushed from his mouth. Yet Friendly didn’t release his knife bone; he just drove his second knife into my chest.
Again.
Again!
Again!!
He pulled back the first knife.
I sagged to my knees. He’d stabbed me five times!
‘Bleed, curse ya!’ Friendly raged. ‘I felt my blades go in!’
I was bleeding. Maybe bleeding to death. But inside my suit, where no one could see. Only I knew how much blood was trickling down my arms and ribs.
Friendly grunted as he twisted his forearm. Out scissored a longer bone knife – the type mountain goblins used to saw through granite. He wiped blood tendrils across his thigh.
The goblin leader planned to skewer me. Kill me before I bled to death.
How kind.
I wanted to scream. But I didn’t.
I wanted to run. But I knew I wouldn’t make it out of the pool. And the extra seconds of life wouldn’t be worth a coward’s death.
Take off your mask and die who you really are.
Bruce landed between Friendly and me. I gaped. The spider crouched, all 128 eyeballs glaring.
The goblin sneered. ‘Ya wanna die too, insect?’
‘You’ve cheated your way to a win, two-eyes,’ Bruce growled. ‘Don’t lose your pants.’
‘Was that a threat?’
‘Was that the sound of a functioning gob brain cell?’ Bruce bounced at high speed from side to side. ‘And I ain’t no insect!’
Friendly’s hair blew back. ‘What’re ya doin’, freak?’
‘I’m vibrating.’ Bruce’s body speed-blurred. ‘Belt up. It’s a spider thing.’
Friendly raised his bone knife. ‘And this is a goblin thing. Grasp?’
‘You’re the gob and we’re the gob-stoppers.’ Bruce vibrated so fast, he hummed. ‘Fight one, you fight us all. Ain’t that yo, gang?’
‘We stick together,’ said Scarab from the pool side. ‘Safety in numbers.’
‘Senseless violence.’ Stoker sighed. ‘Yay.’
Friendly’s arm indicated his dozens of gang members. ‘Us Viethes stick together too.’
The air rumbled. Everyone spun.
Tessa thudded towards the pool, her eyes popping. ‘Me is gonna pukie!’ she bellowed.
Goblins scattered. Tessa sagged to her knees at the pool edge. Friendly and Gort backed away. Bruce stopped vibrating and bounced clear.
Tessa dry-retched. ‘Hrgh!’
Almost everyone fled. While Friendly’s clan hauled him out of the shallow end, Scarab clambered awkwardly down. She clutched my feet and dragged me to the side furthest from the troll.
Ow. Blood gushing faster.
The bell rang.
‘Hope yew goodie vibrating losers drown in puke,’ yelled Friendly. ‘Later.’
I dimly registered both goblin clans strutting off to class.
‘False all armed,’ said Tessa. ‘Me sorree.’
‘Clever move, friend Tessa!’ said Scarab.
The troll’s forehead creased. ‘But me wanna pukie. Feels like me is gonna pukie. But me kin not pukie!’
‘Poor Tessa,’ said Scarab.
Rising voices near the playground doors drew every monster’s eye.
‘What’s happening?’ I asked.
Bruce slurped on his ever-skinnier beef-lollipop. ‘Chill. It’s just the grommet monsters legging in for their lunch break. They’ll detour far from here, long as our troll buddy’s in the ’hood.’
I nodded weakly.
Bruce frowned. ‘You top-notch, bud? I ain’t ever peeped you so … horizontal.’
‘No blood, so I must be okay,’ I lied, grimacing. ‘Thanks though. For being here. You guys go on to class. I’ll … clean up.’
‘You are bleeding.’ Stoker jumped lightly into the pool. ‘I smell it.’
‘Zo can Zorg!’ The zombie dribbled forward. ‘Nom-nommm!’
‘Yo, me three!’ Five of Bruce’s legs pointed at the blood bubbling through one of the cuts in my suit.
‘It’s just a … flesh wound.’ My vision blurred.
‘A flesh wound with a tantalising odour!’ Stoker drew closer, his eyes ablaze with bloodlust. ‘Haemoglobin!’
I cringed against the pool’s side, more afraid of Stoker’s eyes than of Friendly’s knives. My fingers slid into the secret pocket of my costume, activating Erica’s pager.
‘Here me agin go!’ Tessa bellowed. She leaned over the edge of the pool and heaved. ‘HRGH!’
Everyone glanced at the troll girl, though with lessened concern.
A lump quivered up her neck. Her mouth wrenched open. A gurgling rumble climaxed.
‘HRRRGH!’
Tessa heaved up a waterfall of half-digested junk and stomach juices. The steaming liquid slapped the pool, splashing Zorg who lurched closest. The largest chunk of vomit resembled a sloppy, compost-stinky version of … me?
‘Argh, puke iz burning Zorg!’ The zombie stumbled in circles, brushing at his smoking skin, smelling like a Dead Zone BBQ.
Tessa sat, beaming. ‘Me feelen more okay!’
‘Can this day grow more moronic?’ Greta asked from the pool edge, arms folded.
Scarab pointed at the steaming chunk. ‘The vomit – it lives!’
The khaki lump drew itself together and rose from the ancient pool lanes. It swayed and gurgled, as if attempting to speak.
‘Is that a boogie monster?’ asked Bruce. ‘I ain’t ever chowed one of those.’
The lump’s noggin bulge swivelled, checking us out. Something like a gloopy arm extended, pointing at Tessa. The lump recoiled.
Tessa pointed back. ‘Me knew me knew salad! Me ate afore salad! Two weeks afore. When me bin helpen me folks’ garbidge run.’
‘I’m … no … salad,’ the lump gargled. ‘My name is … Prgyll. Prgyll Tlxzpklypnrg.’
Heh. He pronounced the name much better than Doctor Combo.
‘Burning!’ Zorg shrieked.
‘But – say huh?’ Bruce’s eyeballs spun.
‘I’m a … swamp monster.’ Prgyll’s voice grew easier to understand with every word. ‘Two weeks ago, I emerged from my swamp to purchase school books. When I paused beside a garbage bin to rest, this monster consumed me!’
